


him?

by SilverRollu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Drabble, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, chubby prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRollu/pseuds/SilverRollu
Summary: Prompto doesn't like how soft he still is, all the little bits of him that squish and wobble and poke out.Ignis loves him, still. All of him.





	him?

**Author's Note:**

> cross post from tumblr: a nice anon left [a prompt](http://leonmckennedy.tumblr.com/post/163770760170/ignis-crushing-on-chubby-prompto-and-totally) in my inbox one time and i loved it

He’s soft in all the (wrong) places. Despite his best efforts his stomach is still quite pudgy, is noticeable when he wears unflattering outfits. His love handles bounce when he jumps, spill over his belt when his shirt is tucked in. The skin of his underarms still wobble and shake when he waves, his thighs are still thick and mushy and rub together when he walks. His calves are too wide, his cheeks are too chubby, his butt is too big.

Prompto can scarcely understand how he manages to snag a boyfriend like Ignis. Who’s tall and well sculpted, from years of combat training, who appears fashion forward and prepared to model for photographs at a moment’s notice. His understanding is even worse when he lies across said boyfriend’s bed, room thinly lit by request, and listens when the man calls him beautiful.

“No,” Prompto says, voice the only thing small about him, and he can barely feel anything other than the frantic flickering of his heart. “I-I’m not, not really—”

And really, what else is there to say? Ignis sits back on his heels, giving Prompto ample space to move if needed to. To leave. He’s made it clear that Prompto’s comfort is important, and it’s yet another thing that Prompto cannot understand, how he can be this sweet to a person like him.

“I’m afraid I must disagree,” Ignis says softly. “You are absolutely gorgeous.”

No, not him, with the soft stomach and flabby arms and fat thighs. Not him, who couldn’t wear any outfit without outlining the parts of him he couldn’t lose with just dieting and running alone. When Prompto replies with nothing but a low noise, choked in his throat, Ignis settles himself next to Prompto instead. Slowly, he places a hand on Prompto’s side, at the hem of his shirt where it’s riding up. His thumb touches the small strip of skin visible and—

“May I?” He asks. Prompto nods. His hand slips under, and Prompto shivers. Despite everything he remembers how they ended up in this exact situation, right here, and it makes him feel slightly better. Ignis wanted him here, even if he's all

(Wrong)

Ignis touches his side and nothing else, rubs circles that are surprisingly soothing. He watches Prompto closely before pushing the shirt up slowly, bit by bit but not removing it. Prompto knows it’s for his comfort, and the thought itself is nice.

With his eyes shut he can’t see Ignis’ reaction. To his soft belly (wrong) or the stretch marks, running along his sides (wrong.) Seconds pass in silence before there’s a huff of air, Ignis exhaling softly, and then fingers begin to run across his skin. His stomach jumps, and he knows he’s shaking but can do nothing to stop it.

“I truly think you’re beautiful, Prompto.” Ignis speaks like he’s breathless. When Prompto hazards a look up at him, his gaze is focused, watching the movements of his own fingers across Prompto’s pale skin like he’s witnessing something wonderful and precious.

It fills him with an emotion he can only describe in the warmth flooding him suddenly, from his ears to his toes, biting away at the anxiety settling into his bones.

With express permission, Ignis uncovers him, bit by careful bit. The man kisses him all over; his throat, his stomach and sides, down to his inner thighs. His touch is gentle, and it’s the sort of intense attention that Prompto has never experienced in his life and would be hard-pressed to reject. Prompto hears in low, desire laden whispers, that every piece of him is _divine._

Him?

The flabby skin, the discolored stretch marks, the rolls of fat that poke out? That give when touched, that wobble when shaken?

Prompto does not understand, not even as he comes undone under Ignis’ fingers. He only thinks, in a haze, that if this was how the man he looks up to most could see him, then maybe he could try to see too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr.](http://leonmckennedy.tumblr.com) i post a lot of fics that haven't made it/may not make it on here, as well as wips and requests and things.


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